


Teeth sharp as blades

by Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish



Series: Inktober 2020 SanCor fest [5]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Final Fantasy XV, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Yakuza, F/M, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, Implied/Referenced Underage Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-05
Updated: 2020-10-05
Packaged: 2021-03-07 23:20:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,568
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26842036
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish/pseuds/Thesuspiciousflyingjellyfish
Summary: Inktober prompt #5: BladeOrdered to get close to him for information, Sansa realises that the man at the bar has more up his sleeve than he appears, when he holds her freedom in his hands.
Relationships: Sansa Stark/Cor Leonis
Series: Inktober 2020 SanCor fest [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1948696
Comments: 2
Kudos: 8





	Teeth sharp as blades

**Author's Note:**

> A slightly more darker and sexual story than i usually would write, though no actual smut happens, just talk. Also, tags are there for a reason, though nothing in actual full detail

The bass of the club thumbed loudly in her ears, vibrating through her body, that she almost missed when Petyr leant in close to ear. In that snake like whisper, he spoke, “By the bar. Black coat.” Obediently, Sansa turned her eyes away from the dancers on the floor, to scanning the bar, until she found the target.

Sitting alone, back to them, was a male figure, short-cropped hair, and said black trench coat. She side-eyed Petyr and asked, “Can I have information about him before I fuck him?”

“You are fucking him to gather information.” But she didn’t let up on her stare until he gave put-upon sigh. “Yakuza. Kuboyama family particularly.”

“You want me to _sleep_ with the largest Yakuza family in Japan?”

“Oh he isn’t the leader.”

“Because _that_ makes it better.” She snarked, on edge with what he wanted her to do. This wasn’t her first time she has slept with another for information, but messing with the Yakuza was dangerous.

She then felt how his hand, not from the arm around her shoulder, slowly slipped over her thigh and gripped it. In the movement, he had pushed the edge of her dress up a little, and Sansa held back the need to shiver in revulsion. Keeping her face cool and calm, she rose an eyebrow at him, and a smirk donned his face.

“I’m more than happy to spend the evening with you, _Sansa_ , if that is why you are protesting so much.”

Her hand traced over his and she murmured, “I just want to know exactly _whom_ I’m fucking.” And then pushed his hands off her and began to make her way to the man at the bar. She could feel Petyr’s eyes on her back, and cursed herself for ‘ _teasing_ ’ him, as that was how he saw it.

Closer to the bar, after pushing through the drunken masses, she saw that there was an empty seat on the man’s right and she took it causally. This wouldn’t be the first time Petyr had her sleeping with people for information, but he seemed to be aiming higher than usual in getting information. Normally a low levelled grunt, but when she looked at the man from the corner of her eye, she could tell he wasn’t low on the food chain. It was suspicious on why he wanted information from a dangerous family, but maybe it would get him killed, she hoped spitefully. 

Ordering a drink, she waited for it to come before trying to start up a conversation. However, he got there before her.

“What ever that man wants from me, tell him to fuck off.” He spoke in english, voice low and growled. The threat was obvious, and the atmosphere between them thickened suddenly. Sansa had to hold back the need to startle at his words, before looking at him through her lashes, and coyly said, “Who said I was with someone?”

He looked at her from the corner of his own and drawled, disinterested, “I saw you all curled up in his arms. And I know his face.”

She kept her hands from tensing on her glass, and casually asked, “And who is he?” Subtly digging for more information. 

He took a sip, then looked down at his drink, swirling the liquid a little. When he replied he was still not looking at her, “Petyr Baelish. Informant. And a bottom feeder, scrabbling for scraps to rise high in the criminal world.” She would’ve laughed at the image he gave her of Petyr, but sitting next to a dangerous man cut all the humour out of his words.

Then he sat the glass down with a clink, and fully turned to face her, “And _you_ , you look familiar.”

The lighting of the club was dim, as most would be, but at the bar there was a bit more lighting for the workers to see what they are doing better. The blues and pinks of the lights casted him in a strange shadow, but she could see his features clearly now. The stern frown in his brow, the slant of his eyes that was typical in those with asian blood, and how stupidly handsome he looked. But she had flirted with many handsome people before, so it barely fazed her.

Turning to face him more, she switched to japanese, better for Petyr to not read her lips. “Can’t say the same about you.” This entire conversation was not going to plan, but it was interesting, so she didn’t want him to cut it off too soon.

The man tapped his finger on his lip once, twice, humming in thought before declaring, also in japanese now. “Hmm, it will come to me. I _never_ forget a face. Maybe a name, but never a face.”

A part of her was absolutely terrified of him figuring out who she was, but another part desperately wanted him to, longing for someone besides Petyr to call her name.To know who she actually was. 

Then the man interrupted her thoughts, asking with curiosity,“So tell me, what _was_ your plan?”

Waving her hand in a dismissive manner, she sighed, “Oh the usual, flirt, tease information out of you. Most likely fuck you. And when you’re passed out, I look through your things for information.”

His lip quirked up at the corner and praised her, “Hm, good plan.” And just as she smiled back, he asked simply, “And how often does he use you for himself?”

Her entire body locked, and her breath felt nonexistent. Wetting her lips, Sansa whispered, “Excuse me?”

A piercing stare caught her gaze, and he leant closer, “It’s very obvious that he wants to fuck you, so I’m quite interested. Tell me, when you go crawling back to him, how will you be spending the night?” There was a malevolent undertone to his voice, and the absolutely surety that she will not be sleeping with him had her snapping back, hackles standing on end.

“What makes you think that uses me though? Maybe I want it.” She challenged, but it wasn’t a good enough defence going by his expression.

He sent her an unimpressed look and she then conceded, anger sizzling down to a resigned sigh, “I would spend the night with him.”

His eyes narrowed, though she couldn’t tell what that meant as he took another sip of his drink and stated, “A lack of choice means rape.” And she wanted to scream at him that she knew. She knew exactly what was happening to her. But it was easier for her to pretend that she wanted it then to acknowledge that nothing about her relationship with Petyr was consensual. Instead, she fixed her gaze down at her glass, letting the heavy music rush over her.

Then he snapped his fingers and her mind was brought back to the present. He had a triumphant grin and announced, “Ah, I know who you are now.”

Trying to throw him off, she replied, “I’m Alayne Stone.” It was a weak deflection, and she hated how well he had managed to throw _her_ off her own game.

With a mocking smile he shook his head. “Hmm nope. _You_ are Sansa Stark.”

And all the air finally escaped her lungs, staring aback at this man who figured out who she was in five minutes. Something not even the police or even family friends managed to figure out. She felt so vulnerable, listening as he proudly continued, “Told you I never forget a face, the name just takes awhile.”

Her tongue felt thick and heavy in her mouth as she whispered to him, “Ho-how do you know that?” Eyes flicking around to the people around them, but at the same time, trying not to signal to Petyr that the conversation had gone sideways ages ago.

He was brought back from his prideful musings and seemed to sober up at whatever pitiful expression must be on her face. He shrugged indifferently and responded, “Saw it on the news when I was young. I had to keep updated. Saw that the Stark family, very old Scottish mob-”

She automatically cut him off, almost hysterical with how strange it was to talk about her family so freely. “We _weren’t_ the mob, that’s just the term they used for us.”

Shrugging again he finished the last of his drink and set it back down. “Still had many fingers in political pies though.” Sansa let a private smirk appear on her face, thinking about how successful her family was before it’s downfall.

“You were what, thirteen?” He then asked and her head snapped up, drawn back to the conversation.

“Eleven.” She corrected, “I look older than I am.”

He took a moment to count in his head before nodding decisively to himself, “Makes you twenty-three now, correct?”

She nodded but then tried to turn the conversation around on him, as he was still a mystery to her. “What about you? So much focus on me, but I don’t even know your name.”

Giving her a wicked grin he joked, “Guess.”

She rolled her eyes at his childishness and then gave him a more critical once over. She wouldn’t be able to guess his name, but maybe other things. “Well you’re not full Japanese, that’s for sure.” She commented, and he rose his empty glass to her in fake cheers.

“Correct. Eurasian.”

Quirking up an eyebrow, she mused, “Thought the Yakuza preferred purebreds.”

He rolled his eyes, and Sansa spotted an irritated line to his mouth, even as his voice kept that pleasant casualness. “Oh they do, and they take _quite_ a liking in calling me a mutt.”

There was a hidden anger in there, years old and Sansa couldn’t hold back the stupid compassion in her from saying, “I prefer mutts over purebred. Less likely to die young and with health problems. Purebreds are trained to roll over and showcased around like some trophy.” Unfortunately, it came out more bitter than she would’ve liked, and his eyes sharped at the tone.

“Detecting some bitterness there. We aren’t talking about dogs now, _are_ we?” He guessed.

She took a last gulp of her drink and felt brave enough to suggest, “How about a truth for a truth?”

His eyes lit up with interest as he agreed. “Exciting. I won’t answer anything to do with the family.”

Shrugging nonchalantly, not even remotely interested in the Yakuza, only him, and agreed. “I figured. You are far more interesting then them, anyways.” She informed him and a small, pleased smile crept up his face.

Taking that as a confirmation to continue, she asked away. “How did someone of mixed race managed to get so high on the food chain? I know you aren’t some simple enforcer, too intelligent for that unless you play dumb. And Petyr Baelish is an informant, and I’m his favourite, so I have heard of the ‘Mutt’ that runs with the Kuboyama.”

He looked impressed with her words and slyly complimented her, “So there is a pretty brain behind that face.” She huffed out a laugh at his words, and he grinned. “My mother was their previous enforcer, and so was her father before her. A family tradition. Well, she managed to get out of the Yakuza.”

Her mouth shrugged at that information and wondered, “Didn’t know you could. Thought it was death or life for you guys.”

He nodded seriously, but there was a hint of amusement in that motion, “Oh it is. But it was let her free, or let her kill every high ranking Yakuza.”

“Sounds like a fantastic woman.” And Sansa believed that whole-heartedly, wishing she could have been that ballsy.

The man agreed, and the fondness in his eyes as he spoke her had leaning forward, wanting to know more. “Mmhm. Well, she escaped to Europe, particularly Italy, and fell for my father.”

“Was he mob too?” Distantly she noticed how close they were leaning into one another, bot the be heard over the music and because of this electrifying energy around them. She was fascinated to hear more, and at least this close proximity was enough to fool Petyr into thinking everything was going according to plan.

He snorted, “Ironically _no_! Simple man who wanted a family. Well, mother died at child birth- the usual tragic backstory- and he decided to follow her family roots in her memory.”

She sucked in a sharp breath, seeing where this was heading, “ _Oh boy._ ”

He nodded resolutely, “Oh boy is correct. Got mixed with the Koboyama’s and became indebted. When they heard of his son and who my mother was, they offered to clear his debt for me. He took it.”

“Harsh.”

“That’s life.” He shrugged. “So, how old were you when Petyr found you?” Looking back to her, waiting.

She played with the edge of her glass, finger lightly tracing the rim as she spoke, “It was another family that killed mine, and he so _graciously_ rescued me from them when I was their prisoner. As the eldest daughter and only survivor, my pedigree was perfect for them to marry me to their son.”

Her finger then paused, and that hidden rage she had to constantly stuff down whilst in the man’s presence began to rise. Her voice grew cold as she continued, “And then, after I was so happy to serve him, owing him my life, I found out he was the one to create the war between my family and the other. So really, he was the one who murdered them.”

There was now a heavy weight back to the conversation, Sansa having even noticed it disappeared, and he muttered, “Surprised you haven’t killed him _yourself_.”

The anger then fizzled out, as it normal did, her knowing she can’t do much about and mumbled, “Well, better the evil you know and all.”

But his sharp eyes met her and stated, “No. I think there is something else.”

Meeting his gaze had her sucking in a sharp breath, and she couldn’t stop herself from replying, those grey-blue eyes demanding the answer.“...Some of my siblings are still alive. He keeps tabs on them, and if I step out of line... _well_.” She trailed off, letting him figure the rest out.

The man had a predatory presence to him, Sansa could see how his shoulders rolled a little, and the hand on the bar fisted. “Black mail, extortion, rape. He is a _wonderful_ man.” The causal tone did nothing to hide the disgust.

Sansa didn’t know where to go from there, and was about ready to wrap up the conversation and make her way back to Petyr, knowing it wasn’t going anywhere. She was sure he would be displeased about the lack of information, seeing as she doesn’t want to give any to the man anyways, but he would probably forget about it all for the simple pleasure of having Sansa in his bed tonight.

But then, the man leaned in close and whispered in her ear, breath tickling her sensitive skin, “Tell me, would you like your _freedom_ , or a quick _fuck_?” And she felt breathless again, the possibility of leaving Petyr dangling in front of her face,

His arm had come around to lean on the back of her seat, and she could feel his body’s heat, but not a piece of him was touching her. Looking at him with sly eyes, she took a leap of faith and asked, “ _Can I not have both_?”

They left the club together, Sansa making short eye-contact with Petyr as they exited through the door. There was a mixture of satisfaction and annoyance, his usual expression when she made a successful job.

The man led her to his car, weirdly enough opening the door for her first, and she took that time to fish through her purse for her phone. His door thumped closed and he looked at her with mild suspicion.

“He has a tracker on my phone.” She informed him honestly. “I have to turn it on when I do a job.”

He tapped his fingers on the steering wheel before musing out loud, “Best drive to a safe house then mine, huh.”

It was as they walked up the steps to the apartment safe house, Sansa finally noticed the long, black covered, _thing,_ tossed over his shoulder. They entered the apartment and she took off her heels, still eyeing the slim object. He must’ve felt her eyes on him, because he looked back from taking off his own shoes and saw where she was looking.

“My blade.” And she gave it a closer look and realised that it was a fabric case holstering the blade.

Both eye brows raised, she asked, “Your blade. You mean, you use a sword? Is it even _legal_ to carry?” She narrowed her eyes at him, and he shrugged,

“Eh, not really. But I’m on the Yakuza, so what _even is_ legal with us.” And she snorted at that.

They were still paused at the entrance, and the man asked, “Did you want to see more?” And she noticed that there was a blush to his ears.

“More of your _blades_?” She crossed her arms, “Would they perhaps be in the bedroom?” Unimpressed with the terrible pick up line. But he surprised her by stuttering, face now completely red.

“What? _No_! I mean _actual_ katanas, not-“ Her head threw back, laughing at how embarrassed he sounded. So different from the calm and assured man she met at the club.

Tears in her eyes, she tried to breath through her laughter, “ _Oh god, your face!_ ” She pointed at him and then laughed more as he pouted at the way she continued to laugh at his expense.

His swords ended up actually being in the living room, a case with two long blades laid snuggly in the fabric, and an empty space for his third one. She was mildly impressed with them, but a question was playing on her mind, and she really needed an answer.

“So what _is_ your name? As we are going to have sex, I would like to know my partners name.”

He then scratched at the back of his head, a little sheepish, and said, “Cor Leonis.”

Surprised she commented, “I would never have guessed that. That’s latin, isn’t it?”

He nodded, “Yeah, and you never actually answered _my_ question.” At he confused look and asked her seriously, “How old were you?”

Frowning, she reminded him, “I was eleven, thought you would figure that out.”

He flapped his hand in annoyance. “Yes, but I guess I worded it all wrong. How old were you, when he _touched_ you?”

The silence in the room was almost suffocating and Sansa felt the cold mask shift into place. “Depends. Are we talking full sex or just touches?” Her voice was completely blank and Cor’s eyes softened.

“Any touch would be sexual, Sansa.” The quiet way he whispered her name had her squeezing her eyes shut. It was so _nice_ to hear someone speak her name after years of aliases.

She whispered into the room, looking at the floor. “I was eleven.”

He nodded like he expected it, but she watched his fists clench. “Can I kill him?” Her eyes flew up, taken aback, He then eagerly rushed on, obviously taking a liking to his suggestion. “ _Completely_ free of charge. As the Enforcer for the Family, I do a lot of kills, but I do take commissions from time to time.”

Gobsmacked, her only response was to point out, too stunned to answer his question. “Not a commission if you do it free of charge.” Her mind was reeling at the hope and possibility that was growing inside her.

He scratched his cheek in thought. “True. How about, a favour?”

And then the almost joking atmosphere faded, and she felt the seriousness come back. They were here for more than just a quick tussle in the sheets. Her trained informant mind grasped on his words and she responded, “And what would you want in return?”

He waved his hand a little gesturing to around the room. “Well, we could still fuck.” Then his eyes narrowed in contemplation and assessed her, “But I think you want that freedom more. So how about this, you meet with my boss. And we can have you take over the Informant network that Baelish has once I’ve killed him. And any information that we want would be sold at a lower price than normal.”

Her own eyes narrowed as well and she pointed out, “Not very neutral.” Because typically, thats what freelance informants were. They had to stay neutral or there could be consequences.

Cor conceded, “No. _But,_ you get your freedom from him.”

She turned her back to him, looking out his window into the nighttime, the city lights still bright. “ _From one leash to another._ ” She mumbled, resigned.

She heard his foot steps come closer and then his reflection showed him looking down at her, His fingers gentle brushed against her’s in comfort and he responded, sympathetic. “You can never really escape crime unless you die.” And she then she realised, that he too had a leash around his neck.

Turning to face him, Sansa drew her hand up his chest and leant in to his lips, “The leash better be a long one then.”

**Author's Note:**

> Yo, if anyone wants to expand this into a fully fleshed out story, hit me up. I would be hella cool with that as long as you tagged that it was my original idea.


End file.
